Know Thyself
by shiftyjake
Summary: A re-brained Glitch learns a little about himself. Starts a few days from the end of the series. DG/Ambrose if you squint. No real pairings otherwise, just friendship. Final chapter up. Okay, you DG/Glitch shippers, squint reeeal hard.
1. Chapter 1

Thank you, thank you, thank you, to my beta, Natalia, who taught me about the proper use of commas :)

Disclaimer: All characters belong to SciFi Channel and the ghost of L. Frank Baum

***

The Medicoats were suspicious but did as they were told. One did not argue with the Sorceress, at least not for long. They were reassured when she did not allow the patient to recover in peace but rather sent him to one of the cells where she now kept her family and their sympathizers. Talking amongst themselves they reasoned that she must need the man's brain and body reunited so that he could be forced to invent some new means of depriving the O.Z. of sunlight.

The Medicoats were the last to hear when the cells were discovered empty the following morning. Not only was the royal family gone, but so was every other prisoner in the tower's cells. The Sorceress herself had ridden out after them, ordering all others to stay behind.

***

DG frowned down at Glitch's face in the dim interior of the wagon. She heard the flap open behind her, and the clumping of boots on the wooden floor. She glanced over her shoulder.

"Hey, Mr. Cain," she said, "look at this."

"I don't like this," he said. He walked awkwardly over to her, bent over almost double under the low-hanging canopy.

"What? The wagon?" She frowned up at him in confusion. "We're slow enough with one this small, we can't--"

"Not the wagon," he interrupted, "this whole plan." He squatted across from her, on the other side of Glitch. "Your sister should have joined us by now. How do we know she's not just waiting for us at Fenaqua with an army of Longcoats?"

"She wouldn't do that, not now." Exasperated, DG huffed and threw an arm in the air, letting it slap down on her thigh. "The witch is dead, why can't anyone else get that? She had them put Glitch's brain back, didn't she? She helped us sneak out, and she's bought us this much time, hasn't she?"

"Look, DG, the Resisters don't like this, either." He sighed. "It's been three days and they're getting antsy. There's a Resistance camp southeast of here. They want to meet up with other Resisters, rest up, spread the good news."

"What, they're leaving us?"

"We don't have to separate," he reassured her. "We can go with them. We'll be better defended, and Glitch can recover in safety."

"But Azkadelia won't be able to find us."

"That's kind of the point, Deej," Cain said and avoided her eyes as he took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair.

"No."

"DG--"

"No!" she barked, unwilling to hear any more. They were both silent for a few seconds, and DG kept her eyes on Glitch, afraid of what might be in Cain's face if she looked up. Finally she heard the rustle of his coat as he stood. "Wait," she said. Some acquired Midwestern instinct would not allow her to let friends part on bad terms. Cain turned back to her, pale blue eyes inquisitive. "Uh..." DG's mind cast about for something, anything to say that would not spark an argument. "Oh, look at this." She pointed at Glitch.

He looked pitiful and pale, with a head full of dark stubble just beginning to grow back, and a red scar down the middle of his head where the zipper used to be. Cain leaned over him. After a close inspection, he shook his head. "What am I looking for?" he asked.

DG pointed again, smiling. "His eyes are moving. They weren't doing that before. And look." She pointed at the blanket covering him up to his chin. "He moved his arm. I think he's getting better."

A rare smile lit up Cain's face, and he nodded.


	2. Chapter 2

DG stayed with Glitch for the rest of the night. His eyes kept up their movement, and she thought that maybe he was dreaming. He moved again, shortly after Cain left the wagon, his hand jerking out from under the blanket. By dusk, he had turned onto his side. She woke to the sound of movement and mumbling sometime in the early hours before dawn. Glitch's muttering was a dreamy collection of nonsensical syllables but DG still strained to hear him, happy to once again hear her friend's voice. He sat up shortly before dawn.

DG had dozed off again, after the muttering had stopped. She slept fitfully and jerked awake when Glitch's knee dug into the small of her back. "Oof! Glitch?" She peered up at him in the semi-darkness. He'd propped himself up on his elbows and his head was bent forward. She couldn't see his face clearly.

"Queen's birthday," he said, his voice muffled and sleepy. DG sat up.

"What?"

He made a noise and reached a hand up toward his head.

"Mm. It's the Queen's birthday," he said. DG pushed his arm back down as gently as she could. "Tell Cain."

"Tell Cain what?" DG asked, confused, but Glitch was already lying down again, curling up on his side.

"Queen's birthday, s'important," he said. DG watched him, waiting hopefully for him to say something else but he just laid there, his breathing deep and steady.

DG left Glitch's wagon a little after dawn to find breakfast. He hadn't stirred since just before the first sun came up and she thought it was safe to get out of the cramped wagon for a little while before resuming her vigil. She stretched her arms up over her head and her back gave a series of satisfying pops. Making her way over to the center of their makeshift camp, DG found Jeb frying eggs in a pan over the fire, with his father by his side. She was nearly bursting to tell Cain about Glitch's overnight progress. She stopped short when she saw Cain's face.


	3. Chapter 3

Whoops. Forgot to put a disclaimer on the last chapter. Well, here it is. Read it twice.

Disclaimer: If I owned it, I wouldn't be writing about it here.

***

***

Ambrose woke to light and pain. The sparklers in his eyes danced in time to the pounding rhythm in his head. It was a bright day, but little light got through the canvas draped over the wagon. That was at least one thing to be grateful for. He moved to sit up and immediately regretted it, as it sent fresh sparks across his vision and increased the pounding in his head. Instead of lying back down, he stayed propped up on his elbows until the throbbing receded somewhat, then moved again. Little by little, he sat up and leaned back against the side of the wagon.

He thanked the gods that the wagon was still for the moment. As he waited for the pounding to subside to a bearable level, he thought of how much worse his head would hurt when the wagon resumed its lumbering, lurching progress toward... toward... Fenaqua! Right, yes, Fenaqua. He ventured to squint up at the glowing canvas to see if there was anything from which to suspend a hammock that would absorb the worst this road had to offer. Seeing nothing too promising, he considered the possibility of cushioning the whole wagon bed. Springs, maybe... Raised voices from outside caught his attention, and pulled his mind away from springs and axles. The pounding started up again as he crawled toward the other end of the wagon.

Not terribly coordinated at the moment, Ambrose found it difficult to listen to the conversation outside and to move his hands and knees in the appropriate directions. In the end, he reached the canvas flap at the end of the wagon and pushed it aside. The bright sunlight momentarily blinded him, and he felt his way into a sitting position on the edge of the wagon. He listened in on the argument taking place around a smoldering campfire as his eyes and throbbing head adjusted to new circumstances.

The young resistance leader (Cain's son, wasn't he?) was holding forth on one side of the fire, across from the royal family. "We can't wait anymore," he said. He began to tick points off on his fingers. "We're running low on provisions. We have injured and sick men who are slowing us down and need a safe place to rest. We have no idea where the Sorceress is, if she's had a change of heart and sent her Longcoats after us." His hands dropped to his sides and he looked at the royal family. "The camp's just a few miles from this trail and you are all welcome to come with us. It's well defended and we'll all be safe there until we can scout out the situation at the tower."

"My daughter would not betray us," the Queen said, her face red with fury. "Not now. The witch is gone; I saw it in her eyes. She will join us. She may have been delayed leaving the tower, or on the trail, but she will join us. We must wait here until she catches us up."

"Stay here?!" the boy burst out... what was his name?

Cain put a hand on his shoulder, stopping any further outburst.

"Majesty," he said, "Azkadellia may not have betrayed us, but the Longcoats could have figured out the plan. They could have killed her or imprisoned her and may be riding after us right now. We don't have the weaponry to defend this many sick and injured and the royal family besides. We need provisions, weapons and rest before we continue."

The Queen grew subdued during Cain's short speech and said nothing in reply. DG spoke up in her place.

"If we leave the trail now, Az won't know where we are. You're right, the Longcoats will come after us eventually but Az is our best weapon against them. Even if she can't call them off, her magic is powerful and she can help defend us." A general grumbling sounded from the crowd of Resisters gathered around the campfire. Obviously there were doubts about the princess's loyalties.

Ambrose sighed and slid painfully off the wagon to the ground. His knees buckled at first, but he caught himself and stood, leaning on the wagon until the world righted itself again. As he approached, slowly, a murmuring in the crowd caught the Queen's attention.

"Ambrose!" she cried out, and rushed over to him. She caught his face in her hands, saying, "My oldest friend, I thought I'd never see you again." Over her shoulder, he saw Ahamo give him a tight but polite smile.

He summoned a wan smile for her.

"Majesty, forgive me if I don't pay proper respects, but if I kneel, I'm not sure I would be able to get back up again," he said apologetically. The Queen laughed and offered her hand, which Ambrose kissed.

"Come, sit down by the fire. Mr. Cain, could you find some breakfast for our friend?"

"Yes, ma'am," Cain said, then to Ambrose, "Good to see you on your feet again, Glitch." Ambrose didn't bother to correct him.

DG's bear hug bowled him over, but he managed to coordinate the fall into a kind of rough sitting-down. She fell in a laughing heap in his lap.

"I'm sorry! I'm just so happy to-- oh, Glitch? Are you okay?" Her face was twisted in worry when he reopened his eyes.

"S'all right," he ground out. He took a deep breath and, in a more normal voice said, "The old bean's a little tender, is all."

"Oh. Sorry." Her hug this time was gentler. "How are you feeling?"

He smiled at her.

"Good." He looked up at the crowd as DG settled down beside him. He didn't recognize most of the men and women standing around, and assumed they were attached to the Resistance somehow. In front of him, arranged around the fire, stood his Queen, the Prince Consort, Tutor, and Cain's son. What was the boy's name?

"Jeb," Cain called to his son from where they'd stacked the cooking implements from breakfast, "We got any more of those eggs?"

Jeb nudged the youth next to him, saying, "Stoke the fire, will you, Joe?" then joined his father. Joe did as he was asked. Ambrose turned back to the Queen.

"I heard the argument. Thought I'd throw my two cents in," he said, not at all sure he was up to the task. He had an idea, the beginnings of a plan, but couldn't yet tell if it was brilliant or just another glitch. Better to try it out on the people with trustworthy brains. The queen looked relieved.

"What do you advise, Ambrose?" she asked.

Cain handed him some bread and smoked... something. Ambrose wolfed it down greedily. Between bites, and trying his best not to talk with his mouth full, Ambrose gave the Queen his opinion.

"Cain and Jeb are right," he said, to the queen's evident dismay. "No way can we all just sit here; too many things could have gone wrong at the tower." There was a comforting familiarity in the exchange that opened up new channels of memory and thought. "Besides," he added, "we'll be entering Munchkin territory soon, won't we?" he turned to Cain, who nodded. "They've become defensive and paranoid," he said. There was a muttered "No kidding" beside him. Ambrose continued "And they've never been very sympathetic to the Monarchy, anyway. We'd need to stop and regroup before we went further in any event."

"But--" DG began to protest.

"But," Ambrose cut her off "DG is right, too. Azkadellia could be a great asset. There's a simple solution. Someone just needs to stay behind and meet her, then lead her to the camp when and if she shows up."

DG's hand shot up.

"I'll stay."

Ambrose started to shake his head, stopped, and said, "No. You're the only royal heir we actually have at the moment. You have to go to the camp." DG had that stubborn look that meant she'd need more convincing. Suddenly, he saw her at twelve years old, refusing to leave his workshop until Az went back to the palace, because her sister was "being mean." He sighed. "Spend some time with your parents, doll. Don't make them worry." Her expression softened, and he knew he'd hit his mark. He swallowed past a pang of guilt, and said, "I'll stay."

"You can't stay," DG protested. "You're still recovering."

"I'll recover better sitting in one place for a while. Felt like my brains were being rattled out of my head in that wagon. You'll move faster without me anyway. Leave it here, with some provisions and a weapon, and I'll meet up with you at the camp no later than two days from now. Two days from now. Two days from now. Two... Ugh." Ambrose put his head down and rubbed his temples, trying to remember what he'd been saying. "Uh..."

"I'll stay with you."

Ambrose looked up. Cain looked down at him with something that might have passed for concern if it hadn't come from Cain. "Raw?" he asked, over Ambrose's head. Behind him, Ambrose heard the viewer's answer.

"Raw stay with Kalm. Cub scared."

"I'll be fine on my own," Ambrose insisted. Cain gave him a skeptical look. "Really, I'm getting better by the minute."

"You know where the camp is?"

"You can tell me."

"You gonna remember it?"

Ambrose opened his mouth for a sharp "Yes" but closed it before he'd said anything. Damn. The Tin Man had a point. He knew there was something he was forgetting. Ironically, it was his poor memory. His plan still might work with just the two of them, though. Cain would understand. Ambrose nodded. "Yeah, alright. You and me, then."


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: It's not mine. I'm just playing with it and I'll put it back where I found it when I'm done.

A/N: I'm pretty new to this whole fiction thing, so I'd like to know how I'm doing. Reviews and constructive criticism aren't necessary but they are greatly appreciated.

***

***

They broke camp within the hour. Glitch had retired to his wagon with DG. Cain sat with his son as Jeb drew a map in the dirt.

"Here's the trail," Jeb said. "We'll head south another mile or so, then leave the trail by a dead oak covered in lichen. Head east-south-east for about ten miles. There are three creek beds here, here and here. They should be dry this time of year. Follow the third creek north until you reach an elm with a rusty nail in its trunk. Wait there until dusk. We'll send someone out each day to find you and lead you the rest of the way. If anything looks suspicious we'll leave you there and move on. We'll wait four days, then start south again, with or without you. We can't wait." Cain nodded understanding.

"You're a good leader, Jeb." His son ducked his head shyly, and Cain thought he caught a hint of a smile on his boy's face. He gave Jeb's shoulder a manly pat, and left to find Raw.

The viewer was crouched by the remains of the fire, stirring the ashes. The smaller one, Kalm, huddled at his side.

"Raw?" The empath looked up at his name. Cain put his thumbs through his belt loops and slouched. "You sure you won't stay with us? It's just two days."

Raw shook his leonine head.

"Kalm need Raw, have no one else. Kalm scared. Not know these people. Not trust these people." Cain nodded, disappointed. Raw cocked his head. "Cain... worried?"

Cain chuckled.

"Can't hide much from you, huh?" He looked across the remains of the camp at Glitch's wagon. He took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair. "Have you... uh... felt anything from Glitch today? He seemed a little... off."

Raw shrugged. "New brain. Raw not know what normal."

"Yeah. Good point. Well, I'll, uh, see you at the camp, then." Cain put his hat back on and went to finish rolling his pack up.

***

"Of course, Ozma the First, that's Ozma the Great, didn't take the throne until some ten years after the first Munchkin war. There were rumors of a sex-change operation circulating for some time and of course she never produced an heir, so when Glinda the Second's grandson took the Southern throne after her death, he married Ozma's adopted daughter, Dorothy Gale, merging the kingdoms. Of course that set off the Munchkins. They've always been an unruly bunch, you know. Say what you will about the Witch of the East, she made the post run on time..." Glitch's slightly muffled voice droned on from under the wagon.

Cain gritted his teeth. The former headcase hadn't stopped talking since he'd woken up again late that morning. After a solid day of lectures, Cain was now fully educated in the history of the Brick Road, the pseudo-physics of dimensional travel, the transpositional theory of thaumaturgy, and DG's entire family history as far back as the founding of Central City, complete with scandals and age-old gossip.

"Glitch!" he barked. Silence. "Shut. Up." He took his hat away from him face, where he'd rested it as part of a futile attempt to take a nap. Glitch's legs stuck out from under the wagon, right where they'd been an hour ago. "What are you doing under there, anyway?"

"Ambrose," came the reply.

"What?"

Glitch shimmied out from under the wagon. He leaned back against a wheel and wiped his grease-stained hands on one ragged pant cuff.

"My name," he said, "is Ambrose. Not Glitch. And I'm passing the time trying to devise a way to cushion a bumpy wagon ride without springs. So far the best I can come up with is to suspend the bed from the axles by strips of canvas but then we don't have shelter..." he trailed off into thoughtful silence.

"Why's it matter?" Cain asked.

"It doesn't, Mr. Cain, it's just a diversion. Just a diversion. Just a..." Glitch pinched the bridge of his nose, and seemed to Cain to be holding his breath. After a few seconds, his breath huffed out in an irritated sigh. "At least now I know when I sound like a broken record."

"A what?" grunted Cain.

"A broken record," Glitch repeated, louder.

"Hm?"

"A broken--" he tilted his head back against the wheel, and snorted.

Cain smirked. Tin Man one, zipper head zero.

"I was talking about the name," he said. "You are who you are, right? What's it matter what we call you?"

"Glitch wasn't a name I chose for myself. It was just something I could remember. We're not the same person, he and I, and I'd prefer to leave him behind."

Cain shrugged. "Have it your way, Ambrose. Just keep it down, okay? Trying to sleep."

"It's like singing," Ambrose said, and Cain groaned. "If you can't remember a line in a song, just sing the song from the beginning and it'll come to you."

In response, Cain put his hat back over his face and folded his hands across his stomach. He heard Ambrose get up and clomp-clomp his way onto the driver's seat of the wagon. Evidently, he had a gun up there. Cain could hear the soft clicking noise of its moving parts as Ambrose... did something to it. Cain didn't care. At least he was being quiet about it. The gun's cylinder whirred as Ambrose spun it. He put it down with a thunk on the wood of the seat. It scraped against the wood when he picked it back up. Thunk... scrape, click-click... thunk... scrape, whirr.

"If you keep playing with it, you'll go blind," Cain called. Thunk.

***

Cain woke to the sound of birds fighting in the air above his head. His hat had fallen off at some point and he watched the birds for a few seconds before standing and stretching. They dove and squawked loudly at each other until one had enough and flitted away through the trees. He looked around. It was awfully quiet. Where was the little zipper-head, anyway? He peeked into the wagon, but saw only the bare pallet and blankets. He wasn't under it, either. Both horses were tethered where they'd left them, and all packs and supplies were accounted for. Cain thought for a while he'd gone to take a leak or something but that seemed less and less likely as time passed.

Cain began to worry. He didn't know how fast a headcase could recover from a re-braining. If Glitch had wandered off in a daze, there was no telling where he'd end up or what direction he'd gone. He might not even remember how to get back to their camp.

"Glitch-- er, Ambrose!" Cain called, as loud as he dared. It didn't do to attract attention halfway between the Munchkins and the Tower. "Ambrose! Where the hell are you?" No reply other than the chirps of startled birds and squirrels. "Aw, hell," he muttered. He'd have to go and find him.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Don't own it. Never did.

A/N: Sorry this one's so long, guys. I just couldn't find a good place to split it.

***

***

Ambrose leaned against a tree trunk and watched the trail. Nothing so far. It was a good place to watch from. He'd found a spot where the trail bent sharply after a straight patch, and he could see down the way they'd come from the trees. His fingers brushed the butt of the gun stuck into his belt every few minutes, just to make sure it was there. He couldn't remember if that compulsiveness came from himself or from some lingering deficiency of 'Glitch's'. It was as if he didn't trust himself to just leave the damn gun where it was. He feared that he'd put it down and forget that he'd done it.

He learned about himself bit by bit. Oh, he could call to mind all kinds of information on the arts, sciences, and history of the O.Z. and even a little about his own past, but the intimate details of his personality he only discovered by practice. The first lesson had been that he could not keep his mind on one thing at a time. 'Glitch' couldn't either, but whereas the trait had manifested there as a short attention span, now it was an excess of attention. He couldn't just think about his plan, no. He had to think about his plan at the same time that he contemplated ways to improve horse-drawn wagons and sifted his newly-recovered brain for the connections between bits of esoteric knowledge floating around in his cranium, something that seemed to annoy Cain to no end. It was overwhelming. He'd laid back down in the wagon after making his suggestions to the Queen and the others, hoping to still his racing mind. DG had climbed in after him, and he thought he might have babbled on to her about something or other, but really he was thinking about his plan and how best to carry it out. He must have fallen fast asleep because when he woke up, everyone was gone except Cain.

The second thing he'd learned about himself was that he disliked guns. Not only were weapons of all sorts prone to being put down and forgotten but firearms were terribly impersonal. If one was going to engage an enemy directly enough to use a weapon oneself, why stop there? Why not leave the weapon out of it altogether, and just use one's hands? The trouble today was that he did not entirely trust his hands. On a good day, he could easily take on several adversaries at once, but today was not a good day. His head still ached and he became dizzy if he moved too fast. It wouldn't do to take on a sorceress as powerful as Azkadellia on his own anyway, not knowing how weakened she'd been by the witch leaving her. A small and very quiet part of him muttered, "Coward." Ambrose ignored it.

He stood that way for some time, watching the trail, reciting bits of trivia to himself to keep his mind occupied and touching the gun every once in a while, just to be sure. When she finally appeared around the bend far ahead of him, he gripped the butt of the pistol. As she came closer, though, he hesitated. On foot, she moved slowly. She wore a cloak to keep out the chill of evening, but the hood was thrown back. Her face was dirty, her feet bare and her head bent down as if she watched her feet to make sure one went in front of the other in proper order. He thought she was carrying something heavy over her shoulder, under the cloak. He watched her and an unexpected wave of pity and sympathy washed over him. He'd walked like that, dirty and tired. Azkadellia stumbled to a stop, still a few hundred yards away, and dropped what she had been carrying to the ground. A saddlebag, Ambrose observed.

Ambrose shook his head, pushing his pity aside. The princess would be a constant burden to the royal family. They would never exile her to some remote villa to live out her life in comfort and isolation. No, DG and the Queen wanted reconciliation; he saw it in their eyes in the tower. Even Glitch had seen that much. He pulled the pistol out of his belt. The nobility would never stand for it. Too many of them had suffered too much loss at the hands of the sorceress. It would be anarchy and his Queen would be the last monarch to sit on the dual thrones of North and South. Say what you will about the Witch of the East, he thought, and brought the gun up.

A brown blur slammed him back and into a tree. His head struck the trunk, and starbursts exploded across his vision. "Oh, right," he ground out between clenched teeth, "Pick on the guy who just had brain surgery." If there was a reply, Ambrose couldn't hear it over the buzzing in his ears. Tentatively, he opened one eye. Cain stood, one hand on the tree Ambrose had leaned against moments ago, looking out at the trail ahead. He took a step toward the trail, ready to hail the princess. Ambrose's foot flashed out and hooked Cain's leg, pulling it out from under him. The tin man fell with a grunt onto the roots and ferns underfoot. Ambrose casted around for the pistol, dropped but not forgotten. He couldn't see much, and his hands failed to find the gun.

"Looking for this?" Cain's voice came from overhead.

Ambrose didn't need to see the pistol to know the Tin Man had it. Slowly, he stood up. The throbbing had returned with a vengeance. He sighed and held a hand out.

"C'mon Tin Man, hand it over."

"Let me get this straight," Cain said, stepping closer. "You were about to shoot a woman down in cold blood and you want me to give you back your gun? What did they fill that head of yours with, Ambrose? 'Cause it wasn't brains."

"You can't tell me she doesn't deserve to die," Ambrose said, still squinting against too-bright light. "For what she's done to the O.Z. To your family, to me. Your wife's dead because of her."

"My wife is dead because of Zero," Cain said, and looked down at the gun. "He was a warlord on the Munchkin border long before the Sorceress took power and I'd been a thorn in his side for a long time. It was his grudge, not hers." He pushed the cylinder out and dumped the six bullets into his hand. "As for what--"

Ambrose snatched at the gun, and Cain popped him once in the mouth. He caught his balance quickly, and planted a boot in Cain's gut, knocking the man to ground again. The force of it made Ambrose stumble back, too, but he fell against a tree and managed to stay upright. Dizzy and blinded again, with sparks that flashed red with each heartbeat, he clung to the tree. Turning his face toward the spot where he thought Cain most likely lay, he said, "Wanna dance, Mr. Cain?" They were both still for a moment, recovering and wary. Finally, Cain spoke.

"Look at her, Ambrose."

Ambrose did. The Dark Sorceress sat in the dirt with a foot pulled up to her face. With two fingers, she pulled something out of it, wincing.

"She's just a girl," Cain said.

"She's trouble," Ambrose said. "Look, what do you think I advised the queen about all those years? Color coordinating the spring fete? We discussed matters of war, diplomacy, and even the occasional assassination. I realize that she is just a girl, Mr. Cain, but I can't afford to feel pity for those who threaten the royal succession and what little order there is left in the O.Z." He made himself look at her again, little more than a child sitting in the dirt. He reminded himself how often he'd sat like that: hungry, cold, and not knowing how he'd gotten where he was or what horrible thing he must have done to deserve such a fate. Cain stood up, wincing.

"Is that it? You're so concerned for the 'royal succession' that you'd kill the Queen's daughter? I think you're glitching again." Ambrose opened his mouth for what promised to be a stinging retort, but shut it when Cain held a hand up, saying, "Just hear me out. You're a smart guy, Ambrose, and maybe you can see things here that I can't. But you wanna know what I see? I see a guy who's just now able to do something about what's been done to him. Believe me, I get that. Trouble is, the person you want to get revenge on is dead, and all that's left is another victim."

The pounding was really bad now. Ambrose wondered if something had been knocked loose.

"No," he said. "That's not..." He couldn't find the words. He'd thought it through over and over for the last few days as he lay unable to move and drifting in and out of consciousness, each time coming up with some new reason for Azkadellia to die. Now, he couldn't remember any of it, just his own anger. Down the trail Azkadellia stood up and started walking again. Cain watched her, then put the bullets back into the gun, one by one.

"Like I said, maybe you see something that I don't and I'd be lying if I said I thought the O.Z.'s not better off without her." He shook his head and spun the cyllinder. "Maybe this makes me the worst kind of coward, I don't know, but," he looked up and caught Ambrose's eye. "I'll give this back to you if you can look me in the eye and say it isn't personal." He held the pistol out by the barrel.

Ambrose was silent for a moment. Caught up in the political intrigues of the Queen's court, Ambrose had learned a thing or two about truth and how malleable it was. He couldn't remember any of the reasons he'd so carefully crafted to sooth his conscience, but that didn't mean they weren't valid reasons. They were good enough an hour ago, and they'd be good enough an hour from now. He looked steadily at Cain's pale blue eyes, held out his hand and said, "It's not personal."


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own Oz. L. Frank Baum may, however, own my soul.

***

***

Cain put the butt of the gun in Ambrose's hand, but held the barrel long enough to say, "DG and her parents will be crushed." Then, he let go.

Ambrose took the gun and looked out at the princess. She walked slowly, limping, her head down again. She would never know what happened and neither would her family. Princess Azkadellia would have simply disappeared, and only three people in the world would mourn her. It suddenly occurred to him that, much like a headcase, Azkadellia was now persona non grata everywhere she went. She would have to rely on the kindness of others to feed and clothe her for the rest of her life. He knew that feeling, and it was hard to say whether it was worse to fully understand the whys and wherefores or not. Ignorance had bred great hope and great disappointment. Azkadellia had always been a smart girl, and she'd know, even now, what her life would be like. And then there was DG and her mother, the two people he loved most in this world. Could he do that to them?

The princess was getting nearer. The men stood no more than two paces back from the trail. She could look up at any moment and see them and Ambrose didn't know if he'd be able to kill her if she looked at him. Cain was no help. His face was expressionless as he watched Ambrose dither.

"Damn," he said, and shoved the gun at Cain, who caught it awkwardly as Ambrose let go. He stepped over the debris of the forest floor, muttering to Cain as he passed, "If I regret this, I'm blaming you." Cain didn't reply. Ambrose stepped out onto the trail, calling, "Princess!" and wincing at the volume of his own voice.

She looked up, her eyes wide. "Oh! Am-- Mr. Lot." Ambrose blinked. Lot. Right. His name. The name of his grandfather's home village in the South. The princess frowned and touched her lip. "What happened?" She looked over Ambrose's shoulder. "Mr. Cain?"

Ambrose touched his own lip, and his fingers came away bloody.

"Oh... nothing," he said. He saw that Cain had the beginnings of a goose egg on his forehead when he joined them on the trail. Cain held a hand out to the princess.

"Lemme hold that. What happened to the horse?" Cain asked. The princess handed the saddlebags over to the Tin Man.

"Thank you," she said. Her voice when she spoke was quiet and timid. Gone were the saccharin sweetness and authority. Cain led the way back to the little camp and the others followed. "My horse threw a shoe," she said, self-consciously hiding her feet beneath a skirt that was too long to be worn without heels. "And then I did, too," she continued. "I broke a heel. Impractical of me, really. Don't know what I was..." she trailed off and cleared her throat.

She was shorter than Ambrose had thought she would be. Her dark cloak and too-long dress made her look small and frail. With one hand she held the cloak tightly closed across her chest, but Ambrose caught glimpses of a pale gold bodice underneath. She looked up at him suddenly. She'd wiped off most of her makeup, and there were dark smudges under her eyes, making them look sunken. "Actually, the bags are for you, Mr. Lot."

"Hm?" he grunted, curious despite himself.

"Your notes." She looked at the ground again, and continued, "I-- They--" a hand went to her forehead, blocking her face further from view. "A lot of things were taken from your house. I thought you'd want to have some of it back. I didn't know what was important... It's in the bags." She didn't wait for him to say anything, and hurried ahead to walk beside Cain, staring at the ground the whole way.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I just checked and I still don't own Oz. Or the O.Z. for that matter.

A/N: Big thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far. As always, reviews are appreciated, even bad ones (flames notwithstanding). This is my first completed fic _ever_ and I want to know what I did right and wrong so I can do better on the next one.

Okay, all you DG/Glitch shippers, squint reeeeal hard.

***

***

The small party arrived at the Resistance camp without incidence the following evening. Azkadellia joined her family in a tearful reunion in a private tent set aside for the Royal Family. Jeb led Ambrose to the sick tent, which the adviser quickly abandoned for a warm spot by a campfire. He opened one side of Azkadellia's saddlebags and pulled out a piece of parchment at random. On it were sketches of parts of some device he didn't recognize, along with detailed notes in a tiny, neat hand. Using a bit of burned wood, Ambrose scribbled on the back of another piece of parchment the words "My name is Ambrose Lot," and compared handwriting samples. There was a definite similarity.

His researches were interrupted when a hunting party returned with venison and pheasant and the atmosphere in the camp turned festive. A woman produced a fiddle from her pack while a man tuned a mandolin he swore he stole from the Tower, and people stood up to dance. The noise made Ambrose's head hurt and the cheerful music wasn't in keeping with his mood, so he found a secluded spot near the sick tent to lean against a tree and nurse his head and his foul temper. DG found him there a little while later.

"Hey, there you are," she said. She plopped down on the grass next to him. "What are you doing over here? Head still bothering you?"

"Yeah," he said. He didn't feel much like company at the moment, but he didn't want to send her away, either.

DG made a "Hm" noise and nodded. "Az said you were quiet the whole way here." She looked at him and when he didn't respond, she continued, "You're a lot of things, Glitch, but you're not quiet, and you don't brood. What's up?"

He was silent for a while, thinking. "Are you sure I don't brood?" he asked finally. "I mean, how do you know?"

"Because I spent the last six weeks with you, and I'm surprised your tongue didn't get sunburned."

"C'mon, I'm being serious."

She pointed an accusing finger at him. "You talked in your sleep."

"I never! Okay, here, look at this," he said. He shoved the pieces of parchment at her. "Does that look like the same writing to you? I can't tell. I can't recognize my own handwriting." He sighed. "I almost did something yesterday I think I would have regretted, but I don't know if this Ambrose guy would have. Know what I mean?"

DG frowned. "Does this have something to do with how you busted your lip?"

"No," he said. "Well, yeah, sort of, but that's not really the point. I figured it would all fall into place. I'd remember everything, and we'd all live happily ever after." He sighed again and ran a hand over his face. "This whole re-braining thing just isn't going as well as I thought it would. I don't know who I am. I'm not Glitch, I know that. But I'm not really sure I'm Ambrose, either." He pointed at the lines of neatly written notes. "I mean what kind of guy can write in perfectly even lines? I can't." He looked down at the parchment in disdain. "Gods, I bet he folded his underwear."

DG pulled the pages out of his hands and peered at them in the dim light from the campfire. "Hm. Well, I can tell one thing for certain." Her big blue eyes were solemn. "This," she said, "is the handwriting of a drama queen."

"Hey!"

"Face it, Ambrose. You're a Prima Donna."

"See if I open up to you again," he huffed.

"You've had your brain back for, like, a week and you already have an existential crisis. I don't think you folded your underwear. I think you hung them up, and then brooded over how to organize them."

"Okay, that's enough. Give those back." He snatched the papers from her. She giggled and let them go.

They leaned back against the tree in comfortable silence and watched the dancers. Ambrose thought that it wouldn't be so bad being a 'drama queen' as DG put it, as long as he had a friend or two who would call him on it. Cain stood at the edge of the firelight, clapping in time to the music, and watching his son spin around the fire with a young woman. One by one, the dancers tired and sat down and the music slowed. Ambrose noticed DG rubbing the chill out of her arms. She was missing her usual leather jacket. Without a second thought he took off his coat and draped it over her. She looked up, surprised.

"It may not look like much, but it's warm," he said.

"Thanks," she said. She curled up under it, tucking her feet in and leaning against him. He put an arm around her shoulders. By the fire most of the dancers had retired to their tents and pallets. The fiddler had gone to bed, leaving the mandolin player to pick out a slow tune by himself. DG hummed the tune to herself, then softly began to sing along.

"Somewhere, over the rainbow, way up high/

There's a land that I heard of once in a lullaby..."

She yawned when her song was done and leaned her head on his shoulder.

"That was pretty," he said, "Where'd you learn it?"

"I dunno," she said and yawned again. "Something Pop used to sing to me, I think."

They slept as they had on many nights out in the forests of the O.Z., huddled together for warmth and a sense of companionship, nestled comfortably in a hollow made by the tree's roots. Before they dozed off, DG murmured, "I guess you're the kind of person who'd give up his coat to make someone else warm."

He suddenly felt a great deal better.

***

A/N: The song DG sings is (of course) "Over the Rainbow" written by Harold Arlen and E.Y. Harburg, sung originally by Judy Garland in "The Wizard of Oz" and covered spectacularly by Israel "Iz" Kamakawiwo'ole. If you haven't heard this cover, look it up immediately. It's on Youtube.

I am currently working on a sequal to "Know Thyself", which follows our heroes as they work to put the O.Z. back together again. If you liked this one, keep an eye out for that one in the coming weeks. Until then, happy fanfic-ing, everyone :)


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